


I'm The Big Guy Now

by Chubstilinski



Series: The Chubby!Stiles College AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Fat Shaming, Feeding, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marijuana, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension, Shotgunning, Slow Burn, Stuffing, Underage Drinking, Weight Gain, belly!kink, chubby!Stiles, chubby!kink, feeder!derek, hand waving of canon, jk there's no such thing, possibly excessive wet!stiles, sort of infidelity but not really, stiles has a d-bag bf, stoner!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chubstilinski/pseuds/Chubstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually Stiles’s overindulgence becomes more apparent, visible underneath his tightening clothes. He has a little belly now, that protrudes, even empty, over the waistband of his jeans. It’s soft, warm. It gives him a thrill to see, to touch. He likes the slight pinch of his pants underneath his tummy and tiny love handles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only For The Right Guy

**Author's Note:**

> In this universe, Boyd and Erica are alive but Peter isn't (however much I love that asshole). Derek is still the alpha, and the TruAlpha Scott business was never a thing. Lydia and Jackson _are_ still a thing and Jackson didn't move to London. Beacon Hills is still a beacon that attracts supernatural weirdness, mostly as an excuse for headcanon monster-of-the-week, but Stiles, Scott, and Allison don't have darkness in their hearts and aren't bound as protectors to the town or whatever. Basically I'm mostly pretending season 3a didn't happen, sorry not sorry. Except wet!Stiles, bro!stydia, and team human; that shit can totally stay. Although only wet!Stiles really makes an appearance in this fic.
> 
> Also I may or may not have fudged Stiles's starting weight to be more on the upper side of normal, like lets pretend he got a little thicker with muscle by senior year or something? This is mostly so it's not like oh, he's only 170 still, wow. Because that's not chubby at all and goddammit I want chub like right now ok

Initially Stiles attributes the 10 or 15 pounds – he hasn’t checked exactly – he may have put on during his first quarter at school to a few different things. First off, he’d switched ADHD medications, which, okay yeah that can cause weight gain, but usually that would stop after a couple months or so, according to the almighty Internet. So when he noticed the slightest pudge on his previously-flat stomach in his bathroom mirror the summer before his freshman year, he stared curiously, just for a moment before hopping into the shower, unperturbed.

He noticed, it wasn’t like he was in denial about it, but didn’t change his diet or work out especially hard. With his baggy shirts you couldn’t really tell. He’s not even getting laid, so whatever. Anyway he was too busy helping the pack deal with that summer’s chupacabra infestation most days. Derek asked him to be the resident mountain ash trap-setter – he’s gotten pretty good at it since training with Deaton - and the pack usually ended up sprawled out and leaking blood all over the upholstery of his jeep while he played getaway driver.

It’s just sometimes, when there was no direct threat on anyone’s lives, livestock or otherwise, when there was time he could relax and be alone, Stiles had taken to just… looking. His hand would run down his chest into the slightest swell of his belly and he’d use his muscles to push it out farther. 

When he went back-to-school dress-to-impress-the-hot-college-students shopping, after a moment of deliberation he bought a size up in some of the things he’d picked out, just in case. But he hadn’t started fantasizing yet, not really.

Most of his fantasies still involved a surly, stubbly sourwolf. He tried not to think about it but nine times out of ten, with his hand around his cock, he would wind up picturing one Derek Hale with his Perfect Fucking Face and Giant Amazing Biceps. Sometimes he was on his back, gasping and clenching around Stiles’s fingers. Other times, Derek was on his knees, looking up at Stiles with smugness in his eyes as he sucked him into his mouth.

If it was just that, just the fantasies, it’d be one thing. It’s just now - they actually talk. Stiles hangs out at Derek’s place, and not even just with Scott or the Betas, but just the two of them. And Derek doesn’t even seem to mind.

Stiles absorbs all Derek-related information with what is, even for him, abnormal fervor. Derek tells people his favorite movie is Fight Club, but once he confessed to Stiles that he watches The Princess Bride most often. He said it’s because it reminds him of Laura but come on, the guy is obviously a closet romantic. Derek only really relaxes when his whole pack is close, when they have meetings or share a few pizzas after a fight. Stiles maybe lets Derek save him more than is strictly necessary because, overprotective or not, his perpetual guilt is temporarily alleviated when he helps someone – especially pack. Even if it’s just from tripping over a branch in the woods. And he _always_ makes sure he’s there to save Derek back.

Stiles has taught himself to control his breathing, his heart rate. He’s pretty sure Derek doesn’t know. And if he does… well at least he’s still okay with being Stiles’s friend.

***

At college, Stiles gets laid for the first time since Danny, which was about a year ago. It’s his first week of his freshman year and Scott takes him to a party he’d been invited to. Her name is Tara and she’s beautiful and smart and bold, and laughs when he makes stupid jokes. Stiles is a little drunk, he had a whole six-pack of beer and he’s too gone to be nervous.  She takes him upstairs and they have sex. It’s nice. After a couple of dates, Tara doesn’t call him again, so he doesn’t have to break it off. He tries not to regret the emptiness of it.

***

“Hey Stiles,” Derek says, gruff, voice full of sleep. The sound of sheets rustling comes through Stiles’s phone.

“Dude, it’s 11 am. Don’t tell me you just woke up. You’re definitely getting lazy now that there’s no chupacabras or harpies or slime monsters on your ass. But you never know when the next threat will arise, Derek! Constant vigilance!”

“We’ve never had any slime monsters.”

“That’s so not the point, man. There could very well be slime monsters under your sink as we speak. In fact, you better go check. I’m genuinely concerned for your safety.”

"What do you want, Stiles? It's my day off," Derek sighs, sounding just a little bit whiny.

“Aw Der, I’m wounded. I’ve been at college whole two weeks and you don’t even ask how I’m doing? If I’m making awesome new werewolf friends? If I acquired a harem of eligible young bachelors and bachelorettes? If I’ve decided to pay off student loans by becoming a stripper?” 

“I just talked to you yesterday,” Derek interrupts.

“You never know what could happen in a day, Derek, jeez. Anyway all you did yesterday was text me ‘I heard you did a striptease on a pool table and nearly broke your neck. Please tell me there is video evidence.’ Which, by the way, Scott is a traitor and I’m never trusting him ever again. I mean, I know you’re just jealous of all the spectators who got to see my hot bod in action, but all you had to do was ask. You can totally come see me shake it when I get a job at Chippendales. I’ll even throw in a free lap dance just for you.”

“Wow, thanks. Looking forward to it.”

"I knew it all along! My inherent sexiness was bound to make an impression on you someday."

“Stiles, please let me sleep.”

“But I haven’t even told you about Lydia’s creepy biology professor! I’m pretty sure he’s a demon or something, like he’s got these weird eyes-”

“If I promise to call you later, will you let me sleep?”

“Oh my god fine, I guess,” Stiles sighs dramatically. “I hope you get eaten by slime monsters from under the sink.”

“Bye, Stiles.”

Stiles hesitates, “Hey Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you, man.”

“I miss you too, Stiles,” Derek says, breathy, quiet. Stiles hangs up, his heart beating frantically, and can barely stop smiling all day.

 ***

The Second Thing that exacerbates Stiles’s Freshman Fifteen Situation, is the fact that, without lacrosse and werewolf shenanigans to keep him in shape, Stiles hasn’t really been exercising as much as he should. But it's nice, you know, enjoying the freedom of not running for your life once every two days.

He could easily go to the gym or something - that’s what Scott did. And he totally did, too! Sometimes. But really, in his free time, mostly Stiles just wants to kick back and surf the internet or play videogames, not go _jogging_ , gross.

Yeah so the Third Thing, obviously, is beer. He usually winds up at parties on the weekend, and having a pretty high tolerance, he drinks  _a lot_ of beer. Sometimes until his stomach is a little swollen with it. After he gets home, In the privacy of his room, while his roommate is out, he would lift his shirt and look at it, feel it in his slightly numb, clumsy hands, hear the heavy liquid slosh around in his full belly. 

The Fourth Thing is a combination of fast food, takeout, and cafeteria food. Cafeteria food, though shitty, came with his tuition and hey, it's buffet-style and he can get as much as he wanted in one sitting. Which is kind of a lot. He’s a growing boy after all. It's also nice not having to worry about his dad’s health and get vegetables and soy products all the time. Okay so maybe he's going a little overboard compensating for the lack of salty, sugary, fattening food in his life for he last few years, so sue him.

***

There’s also this Chinese place a couple blocks from campus that has literally the best cheap Asian food Stiles has ever had. One Sunday, he orders a ridiculous amount of food, gets it delivered to his dorm. He plans to just veg out, watch some movies, and maybe save the leftovers for tomorrow. After the six eggrolls, fried rice, six wontons, and sweet and sour pork with a container of rice, he starts to feel full, and he hesitates for only a second before picking up the lo mein and _wolfing_ it down. 

Stiles is definitely full now, not uncomfortably so, but pressure enough to unbutton his jeans. Stiles could save the last two containers for breakfast or something; he should, even. But Stiles picks up the pad Thai and eats it slowly, savors it, as the fullness in his belly becomes more intense.

With his other hand, he begins to rub his rounded stomach, feeling how bloated he is, how swollen he’s gotten. It hurts, no question. Dull, achy pain flows through Stiles’s middle. He burps, relieving some of the tension, and lets out a shaky breath, hands still moving over his stuffed gut.

It’s about then Stiles realizes how turned on he is; he’s hard and aching in his too-tight jeans. Without thought, Stiles reaches around his stomach and rubs against his dick, his other hand massaging his belly. There’s no point in saving just the spring rolls, so Stiles grabs the first one and shoves it into his mouth whole. He moans around the taste, licks his fingers free of grease and touches himself with his other hand, alternating between his cock and his stomach. 

When he finishes all six spring rolls, he’s so stuffed, gut so heavy and bloated he can hardly even move, and he is so turned on he can’t even see straight. He pictures himself growing bigger, fatter. “Ah, _fuck_ ,” Stiles whispers, coming in his jeans, empty white takeout boxes beside him and belly hanging out of his shirt and unzipped pants.

*** 

Okay so yeah. Stiles is aware he’s well into full-on kinky fetish territory, here. And being, well, himself, Stiles was insatiably curious. He's not the resident head of the research department of the Official Beacon Hills Supernatural-Evil-Fighting Wolfpack for nothing.

In traipsing around the Internet Stiles finds some interesting resources (and porn), learns that he's far from being alone in his, uh, interests, and a legitimately surprising number of people seem to share similar fantasies. Weight gain and stuffing fantasies seem pretty par for the course in the fat fetish community. It makes him feel so much less alone.

He's also taken in by fat appreciation/acceptance/positive sites that he enjoys (nearly) as much as the porn. And hey, if so many fat people can feel hot and sexy in their bodies, why can't Stiles?

Like maybe he won't exactly be the star of the show in most people's eyes - as if he was before, anyway - but Stiles is perfectly content with being the Fat & Sassy Gay(ish) BFF in the teenage werewolf dramedy that is, apparently, his life. If he can ever manage to summon that kind of self-confidence, he'll be golden. He resolves to work on it.

 *** 

Eventually Stiles’s overindulgence becomes more apparent, visible underneath his tightening clothes. He has a little belly now, that protrudes, even empty, over the waistband of his jeans. It’s soft, warm. It gives him a thrill to see, to touch. He likes the slight pinch of his pants underneath his tummy and tiny love handles.

In public though, it makes him self-conscious, even covered in his usual layers. It seems like people are looking, wherever he goes, like they can tell even if he didn’t know them. He’d started joking about his Freshman Fifteen to Scott and Lydia, to his father, and to Derek when he calls, so it’s all out in the open. It helps, a little. But it still makes him anxious, like they know he eats too much, that he likes it.

This is about the time when Stiles finds something that calms his anxiety, but it also becomes the Fifth Thing – good ol’ Mary Jane.

When he and Scott score a quarter each from Scott’s tattooed hipster roommate, it isn’t the first time he smokes weed. It is, however, the first time he really appreciates its finer qualities. The first few times he’d smoked, he barely got high, and he was constantly paranoid his father would catch him. With good reason, the man’s the sheriff after all, and, as Stiles discovered after one unfortunate incident, he could sniff pot out like a bloodhound. He wasn’t allowed to leave the house for a month.

With Scott and his roommate Dave, he smokes a celebratory post-midterm joint out on the lawn. They end up sprawled out, limbs heavy and light; time loses meaning. Stiles fills his lungs with sweet fruity smoke over and over, feeling the waves of the earth, and couldn’t have told you if they’d been there for five hours or five minutes. He’s never felt so relaxed, so without fear, so open. For once, it’s Scott who can’t stop talking, Stiles who can’t stop laughing 

It’s not even until they end up at the burger joint down the road that Stiles even realizes he’s hungry. Starving. He gets two bacon cheeseburgers and a virtual mountain of cheesy fries. It’s literally heaven. For a few minutes, he can’t even imagine anything better. Absently, he thinks he should feel more full eating all that food. Sure enough, his stomach is round and full, but it doesn’t hurt really, not like it usually does when he eats like this. Stiles makes his excuses and goes back to his dorm, fully intending to take advantage of his stockpile of snacks that could feed a small army of werewolves.

The next morning, he can’t remember the details of his all-night gorge, but he wakes up surrounded by piles of half-empty and totally-empty boxes, wrappers, and bags of snacks. He’s still sort of full. Stiles cleans up and goes to jerk off in the shower, thinking about food, and Derek.

Stiles rarely goes that overboard while stoned anymore, but he wouldn’t say his munchies are exactly mild either. If at the beginning of the quarter he put on a bit of weight, after he starts smoking regularly, Stiles’s weight gain increases sharply. It’s like his previously fast metabolism took too many hits and eventually gave up. Or he was just eating so much that it was beyond even his metabolism to handle. Either way, Stiles can’t deny, he’s definitely getting fat.

 ***

A week before Stiles is due home for Thanksgiving, he calls Derek from his empty dorm room at 2am. "Derek!" Stiles yells, too loud, too excited.

Derek sighs, "Stiles, are you seriously drunk dialing me again?"

"Oh my god, how do you always know?" He's hiccupping intermittently - A combination between too much booze and too much post-party Denny's. It’s making his full stomach wobble and Stiles giggles.

"You're not exactly subtle, Stiles."

"Whatever you know you love me. Hey Derek! Guess what?"

"You're gonna hang up now and call me back when you're sober?"

"No, Derek, don't be talking crazy.  I'm gonna be home on Wednesday! For Thanksgiving."

"Yeah, I know, Stiles." Derek is obviously trying to sound indifferent, exasperated, but Stiles can hear the smile in his voice. He grins wide, and closes his eyes, basking in the glow of taking to one of his _favorite people in the whole world_. 

"You're my _favorite_ , dude. My favorite. I L-I can't wait to see you Derek, god, what if I needed my life saved right now! Who would even do it? You're always there, you know? With the life saving. God. I'm so drunk, I'm sorry," Stiles laughs, feeling warm, fuzzy around the edges. 

There's a long pause, a comfortable silence between them before Derek asks, "So how was the party?" 

"Good, yeah, fun. I donno, we left early. Went and got breakfast food. God I love breakfast food. And all food. But _oh god_ it was so good, Derek. I ate way too much though; like I'm so full right now I'm just laying here like I can't even get up. I think I ate literally, the entire restaurant, I'm not even kidding. Like I probably gained 50 pounds just tonight. You won't even recognize me when I get home, man, I swear," Stiles hiccups loudly, perfectly punctuating his point.

Derek draws a short breath, as if to say something, but he's quiet for a few seconds. "That's literally not even possible"

"I know, trust me. If it were I would _definitely_ have managed by now. It's not for lack of trying" Derek's breathing is heavy, only incrementally faster. But of course Stiles notices it, he notices everything Derek.  "You okay, Der?"

"Yeah. Just. Uh, thought I'd get some pull ups in if you're gonna take up all my time rambling about breakfast." Stiles hears a small squeak of metal. Probably the pull up bar he's got hanging from is doorway, the workout freak.

"Mmm yeah," Stiles says nonsensically, licks his lips. He breathes deep, tries to slow his heartbeat, but can't help picturing Derek shirtless, muscles flexing, sweat glistening on his perfect skin. "God. You're ridiculous you know? As if your body isn't already like a marble sculpture of fucking Hercules."

"Yeah well, not all of us want to get fat and lazy like you, Stiles."

Stiles laughs brightly. The teasing makes him warm, and the anticipatory feeling he always gets from talking to Derek grows more pronounced with the conversation. He feels light, on the edge of a precipice.

"You should try it sometime, it's really pretty liberating, you know. Like fuck your beauty standards, man! You'd be like, the best bear ever, too. Wolf-bear. And it doesn't really get in the way of getting laid like I thought it would."

"Hm. You bringing your little boyfriend home for break?" Derek's tone is clipped, now, Stiles's beer-soaked brain can't wrap around it. Derek confuses him even when he's on his A-game.

"Ha, no. Jesus it's not even serious. I think he's going to his grandma's in Vermont. Anyway we've only been seeing each other for three weeks, a little early for meeting the family. And what's with the accusatory tone, man?" Derek doesn't answer. "It can't be the gay thing, you never had a problem with it before. Or are you just going all overprotective alpha on me? No one's gonna be good enough for Stiles is that it? Aw Der, I didn't know you cared."

"Shut up, Stiles"

"Wait, what are you doing for Thanksgiving? The pack coming over?"

"It's just Isaac, Boyd, Erica and I, yeah.”

"Hey we're having a Stilinski-McCall-Argent family get together at my place, you guys should totally come! It can be like, a whole pack thing. And don't you dare fight me on this, you're coming and it's going to be awesome."

"I don't know, last I heard your dad is still put off by my arrest record. Not to mention the fact that Argent probably still wants me dead."

"You were exonerated! And Chris is totally cool now, dude. They’re gonna have to get used to you eventually anyway. I want you there. Bring pie."

"Okay."

"Okay?" 

"Yeah Stiles, I'll come."

Stiles laughs, delighted. “Awesome,” He yawns loudly, stretching his back up against the weight of his stuffed belly. "Mph. How are things in Beacon Hills: The Literal Beacon Slash Hellmouth? Encounter any slime monsters yet? Gremlins? Yetis? Please tell me there are actual yetis."

"It's a bit early in the year for yetis, their mating season is in mid-January."

"Oh my god, really?" 

"No, Stiles, there’s no such thing… Probably."

"Ugh, you suck."

"Only for the right guy." Stiles sputters a surprised laugh that gets caught in his throat, turning into a coughing fit. He almost doesn't hear Derek say, "It's been pretty quiet since you left."

"Is that your way of saying you miss me?"

"Maybe."

Stiles exhales harshly, caught off guard. Derek's said so before, Stiles should know this by now. But it still surprises him, every time. "I miss you too, sourwolf."

"I know."

"Pfft, all right Han Solo, see of I save your ass from the carbonite" 

"Wow, you're the worst Princess Leia ever."

"I resent that! I'd make an amazing Leia, I'll have you know. You don't think I could pull off side buns? Or the gold bikini? I think I’d rock that shit."

 Derek chuckles softly and Stiles feels a rush of affection and accomplishment. "Don't you have a group project meeting early tomorrow?" Derek asks, after a pause.

"Oh my god, no don't remind me," Stiles yawns.

"Go to sleep, Stiles," Derek says, gently. 

"You’re not the boss of me." But Stiles already has his eyes closed.

"Actually, I am the alpha," Derek deadpans, making Stiles giggle softly, he murmurs something unintelligible, not even hanging up before drifting off into a sated beer and food coma.

 


	2. Magic Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a game-plan. In order to maximize his food intake, and be able to gorge himself to his heart’s content with as few people noticing as possible, Stiles was going to pack his plate to the brim, and eat as fast as he could. Hopefully, once he’d finished a couple plates like that, people would still at least be nibbling at the spread, and it wouldn’t be too weird to take more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter they have a bonfire at the Hale house. Which I didn’t really think about as actually weird until after I already wrote it so. I guess in my headcanon, Derek’s family used to have bonfires for ceremonial reasons, and he actually likes them because it feels like honoring their memories. If he ever had problems being around fire, he got over it. Enjoy bbs <3

Stiles panics on and off for the better part of the car ride home. It’s the first time he’s seen anyone but Scott and Lydia since he started school – since he started gaining weight. He’s excited, obviously, they’re his family, but he’s nervous what they’ll say, how they’ll act around him.

His dad is the first stop, of course. He meets Stiles out on the driveway and gives him a big bear hug, putting Stiles immediately at ease. “Welcome home, kid.”

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles grins brightly. His dad claps him on the shoulder, and moves around the car to help with his bags, even though there are only two, and Stiles could totally get them himself. They talk about school, work, the ghoul who took up residence in the local cemetery three weeks ago, but his dad doesn’t bring up his weight, and Stiles relaxes into the feeling of _home_.

 

***

 

Derek texts him late that afternoon.

Message From: Derek ‘Sourwolf’ Hale

**Derek:** _Isaac, Boyd and Erica have instructed me to tell you to “get your ass over here for some pack bonding”. For some reason they miss you. Bring movies. – D_.

Stiles grins wide, types, _It weirds me out when you sign texts. As if idk who this is. Be there in 1hr, hanging out with dad_

**Derek _:_** _Why do you think I do it? Annoying you is one of my favorite pastimes._

Nerves make their way to the surface of his mind with renewed intensity, half an hour later when he’s putting his suitcase up in his room. Stiles spends an embarrassing 40 minutes agonizing over what to wear, what to do. Oh god, he’s gonna see _Derek_.

Stiles spends the whole car ride trying to get Zen, calm his heart, breathe deep. He runs up the short steps to the door of the renovated Hale House, and knocks with deliberate nonchalance. It’s Erica who opens the door, screaming, “Stiles!” and bounds into him like a giant puppy. A puppy who can _lift him off the ground_ , okay. Laughing, surprised, Stiles hugs her back with all his totally human, non-werewolfy strength. Boyd appears at his side and gives him a manly back-clap, all companionable silence, as usual. When Erica releases him, Isaac walks over, shyly, and curls one of his arms gently around Stiles’s shoulders briefly, saying, “It’s good to have you back, man.”

“It’s good to be back,” Stiles breathes out, sincerely, overwhelmed.

Derek, who Stiles has barely been able to take his eyes off of, has his arms crossed over his chest and says, “Hey, Stiles.”

Stiles grins wide, elated, pushes past the betas to stand in front of their alpha. He hesitates for a moment, but decides, _fuck it_ , and wraps his arms around Derek’s waist, squeezing. “Hey, Derek.”

Derek gasps, unfolds his arms slowly, and draws them around Stiles.

Suddenly Stiles realizes that they’d never done this before. Not even the post-battle glad-you’re-alive hugs he’d gotten from _literally everyone else_ \- including Boyd, and _Jackson_ for fuck sakes. But Derek is hugging him back, and Stiles is euphoric, triumphant, basking in the safety of Derek’s arms and strong feeling of _pack_.

Paranoid he’d been taking advantage, that it’d been going on too long, Stiles reluctantly draws back. Expecting the impassive scowl that was at least 70% of Derek’s facial expressions, Stiles is surprised to see a soft, pleased smile that lights up his beautiful eyes. Stiles is stunned by it, overwhelmed. He turns away from Derek only to see the attempted suppression of Erica, Boyd, and Isaac’s looks of confusion and/or exasperation.

They order pizza and wait for Scott, who shows up an hour later, and is greeted with just as much enthusiasm – though no hug from Derek, Stiles notes smugly. Sprawled out on Derek’s massive cushy couches and chairs, in front of a huge flatscreen playing _Rocky Horror,_ the pack devour three pizzas and a 12 pack of coke.

Stiles holds himself back, at first, not wanting to indulge too much in front of his friends. Scott is one thing, but the rest of the pack haven’t gotten used to the way Stiles eats now, and he doesn’t want to draw attention to his weight, especially by filling his belly until it swells. He eats three pieces, and is still hungry, but holds off. Growling traitorously, his stomach gives him away. Derek, the saint, places two more slices on Stiles’s plate without comment, and takes one more for himself, sitting next to him on the loveseat. Stiles tries valiantly to ignore the horrible irony.

He eats slowly, savoring each bite, and when he finishes he’s barely scraping the edge of pleasantly full. If he were alone, he’d likely be demolishing a whole pizza himself, but he doesn’t want to overdo it. Especially since tomorrow he’d likely not have that kind of willpower – but he’s allowed, okay. Thanksgiving was practically made for gluttony.

When the movie ends, Erica and Boyd run off to have a date and some alone time, and Scott and Isaac start up a game of Mortal Kombat. Derek takes the pizza boxes into the kitchen to clean up, and Stiles stares after them with longing. Two parts for Derek, and one for the pizza.

A couple games in, when Stiles is attempting to backseat drive Scott’s gaming, Derek returns with a plate of freshly heated pizza slices. He picks up one for himself and offers the plate silently to Stiles, looking towards the TV. There’s a light flush high on Derek’s cheekbones, barely visible in the flashing blue light of the screen. Stiles studies his profile for a moment before choosing a huge, cheesy slice and stuffing in a huge mouthful. Derek’s eyes slide to Stiles’s, and Stiles can’t read his expression.

He finishes his sixth slice quickly, and considers. Derek has only taken one so far, but with the warm pieces right there, Stiles is having trouble resisting. He takes another, looking over to Derek, who is staring at Stiles’s mouth. He licks his lips subconsciously and Derek startles, turns back to the TV. Stiles can’t breathe. He takes a gulp of soda, and regrets it a moment later when he has to stifle a burp. Mortified, Stiles hides behind his pizza, devouring it, resolutely avoiding Derek’s gaze, even though he can feel it on his face. Stiles is definitely stuffed full now, but he resolves not to go as far as he’d like to – the eighth slice, the whole pie. Despite the still-warm pizza resting tantalizingly just in his line of sight, Stiles resists, lounging back, enjoying the warm fullness in his gut, and presence of his friends.

Feeling lazy, lethargic, Stiles watches his them play, makes sarcastic commentary until Scott goes home, and Isaac heads up to his room. It’s just Stiles and Derek now, and he’s nervous all over again. Stiles gets to his feet, brushes pizza crumbs from his clothes and says, “Guess I’d better head home, man. Helping everyone get an early start on dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Stiles.” Stiles gives up on trying to play cool, hugs Derek around his shoulders, and Derek’s arms immediately circle his waist. After a moment, Derek starts nosing at Stiles’s neck, breathing him in. Stiles knows what he’s doing, he’s seen him scent mark the rest of the pack, but he’s never been on the receiving end. With Derek’s face rubbing against his neck, hands on his soft waist, flat abs pressing gently into his full belly, Stiles feels a surge of excitement and arousal so strong he has to physically push himself away before he embarrasses himself.

“Okay, big guy,” Stiles laughs, nervously, patting Derek’s shoulder.

Derek gives Stiles’s rounded middle a pointed glance, and Stiles shifts, trying to hide. “Not sure I’m gonna be the big guy for long,” Derek teases, with a playful smirk.

“Damn straight,” Stiles says, face heated, mouth curving up into a smile.

 

***

 

The shower is warming up, filling his bathroom with steam, and Stiles surveys the affects of his overindulgence for approximately the four billionth time. Stiles’s form is solid, bulky, where, at the start of high school he was lanky and lean. His belly takes most of the weight, bulging out, small and round and soft, but his love handles are definitely getting thick too, and he’s starting to form the slightest droop under the swelling of his pecs. His jawline was now softened, cheeks slightly rounded. Turning around, Stiles observes his Butt Situation. It’s plump and full and _bangin_ ’, if Stiles does say so himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles catches a glimpse of something he hasn’t used in awhile. His stomach swoops with anticipation, and he licks his lips, stepping onto the scale. It read 189 pounds; Lacrosse and some fight training had gotten him around 170 by the end of high school, so Stiles has put on about 20 pounds just in the last three months. He is immediately, forcefully turned on.

Stiles jerks off in the shower, picturing Derek in there with him, behind him, wet muscles pressing against Stiles’s back, hard dick resting against his ass. He massages Stiles’s abdomen, inching lower. It’s full, and round, the scene changes and Stiles reaches for another chocolaty sweet cupcake, stuffing it into his mouth. He can’t hold back a moan at the taste, and Derek growls appreciatively into his ear, bringing a cupcake up to his mouth, other hand teasing Stiles’s cock and soft lower belly. Stiles imagines himself getting bigger, growing fat from his gluttony, and comes abruptly all over himself in the shower. His vision blacks out, breathing deep and ragged, and he holds himself up against the shower wall until he can pull it together enough to actually clean up.

 

***

 

Stiles had planned to wear this blue button-up he hadn’t brought to school with him in a sad attempt to look nice for dinner, but he isn’t sure it’s such a good idea anymore. He’s in his room, standing in front of a floor length mirror in his too-tight boxer briefs, buttoning the shirt. It fits, technically, but the buttons strain at the thickest part of his belly. If he sucks in, it’s barely even noticeable, but it’s likely Stiles is gonna overdo it a bit tonight, and he doesn’t want a button-popping incident in front of his family and friends, thank you very much (In private is a totally different story – he files that away for future experimentation).

He’s still tugging on the shirt when he sees something move over the corner of his eye. “Holy god!” Stiles shouts, breathlessly, and spins around for his bat. Bringing it over his head, he looks around for a threat but just finds Derek, with his hands raised in surrender, sniggering.

“Yeah, laugh it up fuzzball. You know, I really got used to people fucking _knocking_ before they break into someone’s room unannounced, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I texted you.”

“Oh my god, obviously I didn’t get it.”

“Obviously.” Derek glances down at Stiles’s half-dressed form and ill-fitting ensemble, and his face loses humor, goes slack. Stiles fidgets, trying not to look obviously uncomfortable and probably failing miserably. “Is that what you’re wearing?” Derek asks sincerely, voice low, eyes still glued to Stiles’s middle.

“No! I mean, uh. No. I was just, you know, trying it on. It’s old. Like way old, back from middle school, I didn’t bring anything nice to wear so. I guess it’s just a T-shirt for me.” Derek nods, looking out of it. “Derek? You okay, man?”

“What did you bring?”

“What?”

“Your clothes, what did you bring to wear?”

“Oh, um, just these,” Stiles says, opening his suitcase. Derek goes through it carefully, re-folding everything once he’s looked at it.

“This one,” Derek says, holding up a nice grey v-neck sweater.

“Of course you’d pick the thing with the least amount of color in my entire bag.”

“Try it on.”

“Excuse you?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Do you want to look nice or don’t you.”

Stiles lets out an annoyed breath, and realizes he’s being silly. He changes in front of his friends all the time. The only difference is that it’s _Derek_ , but he can’t very well tell him that. So Stiles slides into the nice dark jeans he’d already picked out, only stumbling a little. They fit well, are relatively new. Then Stiles takes a deep breath, forces himself not to turn around, or look at Derek, and begins to unbutton his shirt quickly and without finesse.

“You’ll never get into Chippendales like that, Stiles. Put in a little effort.”

Stiles stops abruptly, a little stung, his shirt halfway unbuttoned. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d meant. “What, you want me to put on a show for you, Der? Take it slow?”

“You did promise me a striptease.” Oh my god, were they flirting? Was Derek flirting with him? He tries to parse through the conversation and can’t logically think of any other way to describe it. 

So Stiles does the only think he can think to do. He sways a little, bites his lips, and pops the next button on his shirt, the one resting on the topmost part of his belly. Derek’s eyes follow the movement of Stiles’s hands, face emotionless but flushed rosy pink, arms folded over his chest making his biceps look _incredible_. Stiles wants to lick them, and every part of Derek’s body. It’s getting too real, hitting too close to home, so at the end of his striptease he hams it up, making it funny, safe. He swings his shirt over his head and tosses it onto Derek’s, and Derek laughs, open. Stiles grins.

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says fondly, gaze locking once again around Stiles’s tummy, his chest. Stiles rushes to put on his sweater, heartbeat rapid, breathing uneven.

“Well?”

“Looks good, Stiles. You look… really good. See you at dinner,” Derek says, flustered, and leaps out Stiles’s window before he can think of anything to say. He thinks Derek takes his shirt.

Stiles wears the stupid sweater; it actually looks pretty nice. Fitted, but loose enough that he feels covered. He tramples downstairs, feeling nervous still from his encounter with Derek, and helps his dad finish prepping the appetizers.

 

***

 

Stiles has a game-plan. In order to maximize his food intake, and be able to gorge himself to his heart’s content with as few people noticing as possible, Stiles was going to pack his plate to the brim, and eat as fast as he could. Hopefully, once he’d finished a couple plates like that, people would still at least be nibbling at the spread, and it wouldn’t be too weird to take more. 

The hitch in his plan, of course, is Derek fucking Hale, who not only sits right next to him, but also notices _everything_. Normally he’d be basking in the attention, but right now, he just wants to stuff his face without his massive boner for the guy interfering and making him self-conscious. Not for the first time, Stiles wishes he could be stoned for this without more than half the room immediately knowing.

He’s already not actually hungry, from a potentially excessive amount of cheese and crackers, chips and dip, and pigs in a blanket, but they were only appetizers, it just makes him more ravenous. They do that hokey going-around-the-table-saying-what-you’re-thankful-for spiel while Stiles eyes the spread with heady desire.

Finally, everyone starts passing around bowls of truly amazing-smelling food and Stiles visibly lights up. Derek chuckles at him, low and warm, and Stiles is suddenly elated. He’s with his favorite people on earth, next to the most gorgeous human being on the planet, and he’s about to eat the most glorious assortment of food he’s ever seen.

Stiles piles so much on his first plate, he has to pass on the last couple of dishes just because he literally can’t fit them anywhere. He slathers it in butter, and gravy, and immediately shovels in a huge mouthful of potatoes, followed by sweet potatoes with marshmallows, stuffing, turkey, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, corn, and two dinner rolls. He dips his bread in the last dregs of gravy, and pops it in his mouth. Stiles burps, low and smothered in his throat and looks up, but no one is paying him any attention, wrapped up in conversation. Derek is staring intently at his peas, the weirdo.

He was right though, no one even seems to be through their first helpings yet, so he surreptitiously grabs a couple of the dishes closest to him and piles them onto his plate. He probably finishes half of the stuffing himself, a sizable chunk of the mac and cheese casserole, and a fuckton of mashed potatoes. Two-thirds through the plate, Stiles stifles another burp and his breath catches as he breathes in a quiet, high-pitched hiccup. Gulping down his soda does nothing to stifle them, but the hiccups subside after Stiles holds his breath briefly. He wants to be able to rub his swollen, aching belly into feeling better, go unbutton his jeans, which are suddenly way too tight. Instead he greedily crams down the rest of his food.

Everyone besides Lydia, Chris, and Jackson have gone in for seconds, and most are only just starting. He’s leaning back in the dining room chair, hoping, for once, that no one misses his constant chatter, and he can manage to stuff in another plateful. Derek looks frustrated by something, but then he’s leaning back, too, and says low, close to Stiles’s ear, “That’s it? I thought you said you could eat, Stiles. Keep up.”

He’s teasing, but it sounds like an invitation. Derek wants to see how much Stiles can eat? Stiles will literally eat the entire turkey. He feels a sharp surge of arousal, but keeps it mostly in check, he thinks. Derek is the only one paying him any attention right now anyway, and he doesn’t seem to mind, at least, his smirk doesn’t falter.

Stiles raises his eyebrows, “Just taking a break before I come back for thirds, don’t you worry, man.”

Derek takes his plate, fills it with an assortment from the entire table, and drops it in front of him saying, “Break’s over,” with a mischievous smile.

"Challenge accepted," Stiles grins manically, sits up against his protesting belly, and helps himself to the offered food, starting with a huge mouthful of mac and cheese. He can't help but notice Derek's plate is significantly less full than his own, the cheater. But whatever, he plans on owning Derek anyway, competitive edge just what Stiles needs to push his gluttony to full throttle.

As predicted, Derek gives up at the halfway point, watching him carefully, just as Stiles slides the last bite home with a low groan. A couple minutes later, Derek slyly switches his plate with Stiles’s, but doesn’t say anything about it, isn’t even looking at him. Deciding it’s probably not some sort of trap - or, at least, he doesn’t care if it is because, hey, more food for Stiles – he eats what’s left of the turkey, stuffing, and potatoes from Derek’s plate until he practically licks it clean.

Stiles leans back heavily, helplessly rubbing his bloated belly. Half the table appears to be doing the same, including Derek, so Stiles feels okay about it until he’s fighting off waves of arousal and biting pressure, needs to calm down. Stiles excuses himself, sucking in his protruding gut as much as he can, and makes his way to the downstairs bathroom. Once inside, he leans against the counter, breathing heavily, ragged, and massaging his throbbing belly. He takes in the damage, briefly, feeling hot, excited, but doesn't dare do a full survey until later, when he's alone, preferably far away from Derek. The other wolves probably aren't listening, paying attention to the table conversation, so Stiles let's out a pained whimper, and a few muffled burps. It still hurts but the pain is fending off his erection for now, so he doesn't push it.

When Stiles exits the bathroom, he runs straight into Derek, who grips Stiles's arm and leads them around a corner, pressing him gently into the wall and oh my god, is Derek gonna kiss him?

He looks nervous, flushed red hot down to the collar of his shirt, and he lifts Stiles's sweater to rest above his distended stomach. Stiles is too shocked to stop him. Then Derek’s warm hand is pressing firmly above Stiles's belly button. Stiles gasps, arousal crashing back full force, and suddenly he feels no pain, only hot, full, pressure. Black veins trail up Derek's arms and Stiles realizes what he’s doing. Without the pain in his belly holding it back, Stiles grows immediately hard in his jeans. He can see the moment Derek notices, catches scent of it in the air, and Stiles closes his eyes, not wanting to see the disgust he's sure to find on Derek's perfect face. Absolute mortification is a really effective boner killer for him though, thank god for small favors.

"Stiles," Derek says, so softly. Stiles cracks open one eye hesitantly, only to find Derek's face, so close to his, radiating bliss. Stiles is caught off guard. "Ready for dessert?"

"Uh."

"Come on," Derek says, pulling him away from the wall by the front of his sweater

Stiles struggles to find familiar ground, going for sass because it's his best deflector. "Gimme like 20 minutes I'll be good to go. Think you can keep up, Der?"

"No, I really don't," Derek laughs.

"Thought so. Frankly I'm pretty impressed at my ability, not only to keep up with a pack of werewolves, but also to surpass them. I think I've found my calling." Derek smiles, small and private.

"If Laura was here, you'd have a real challenge on your hands. Of course, she'd usually run off all those calories, unlike some people," Derek smirks, glancing at Stiles's rounded stomach, and leading him back into the dining room with a warm, gentle hand on Stiles's back. "She'd like you, Stiles."

"Oh yeah? As much as _you_ like me?"

Derek narrows his eyes and sits down at the table, where everyone is still talking and laughing. "I'd really hope not."

"What?"

But Erica shouts from the other end of the table "Stilinski! Tell Isaac I will crush him at Risk, he doesn't stand a chance right?"

"Oh my god, no, we are not playing that shit again are you kidding? Do you not remember the Lord of the Rings Risk bloodbath of 2014? Never again."

The amicable argument distracts him until Ms. McCall, Boyd, and Scott bring out six different pies, all of them homemade. They smell incredible; Stiles's mouth waters and he leans forward in anticipation.

"Hungry already?" Derek teases.

"Yeah well your werewolf mojo works wonders, what can I say?" Stiles says, serving himself a portion of each pie.

Ah, there it is, _now_ he's getting looks. But whatever, Stiles feels _awesome_ , and a little high - a side effect of Derek's healing, he knows - and right now he couldn't give less of a fuck. Anyway, everyone knows Stiles lives for pie.

No one else takes more than three slices, and Jackson is the only one who does even that - the asshole has a sweet tooth the size of his own big head. 

He starts with chocolate pie, his favorite, followed by apple and cherry, and oh. Stiles's belly really hurts again. The pain bleeds slowly through the haze of healing magic. He tries to massage it surreptitiously under the table, but, of course, Derek catches him.

"Getting a little full there, big guy?"

Stiles tries valiantly not to show how much the nickname thrills him, makes him hot all over, "Gee I wonder why?"

"So you're not gonna finish those?"

"Give me a minute, Jesus," Stiles mumbles, stomach groaning definitely loud enough for Derek to hear.

They're still gathered around the table ten minutes later, and Stiles suddenly feels rough, warm fingers lightly press against the skin of his muffin top. He startles, at first, relaxing as the familiar sensation of healing courses through his abdomen. It feels _incredible_ , Stiles wants to cry out, squirm in his seat, fucking - straddle Derek and suck on his tongue. Instead he breathes deep through his mouth, and closes his eyes. When it gets to be too much, and he feels too stoned and light, he grabs Derek’s hand and squeezes in silent thanks.

He's been enlisted to help with cleanup, so while the rest of the pack retreats to the living room for a movie and some sleepy digesting, Stiles, Derek, and the sheriff haul the plates, trays and dishes into the kitchen. When they get there, Derek says, "Sir, Stiles and I can handle cleanup, why don't you go relax?"

Stiles raises his eyebrows in question, his father saying, "Okay, if you're sure."

"Yes, sir, it’s no problem. We've got it."

"Thanks, son," the sheriff says, clapping Derek on the shoulder, and Stiles's eyebrows are raised as far as they can go.

"What the hell, you suck-up," Stiles mutters under his breath. They work in companionable silence, though Stiles privately thinks Derek looks more mischievous than washing dishes really warrants.

When they finish up, Derek hands him a plate. "Saved you this." he looks equal parts calculating and sheepish. It’s his three remaining pie slices, cold from the fridge.

"Uh, thanks? You don't think I've had enough to eat, dude? I ate practically half the feast myself," Stiles pats his tight, round belly.

"Suit yourself," Derek replies, taking back the plate.

"Hey now, I didn't say no, did I?" Stiles makes grabby hands at the pie, easily held back by Derek's strong arm. "C'mon man, don't be a dick."

Derek sets the plate on the kitchen table, and heads to the fridge. Stiles devours the remaining pie (strawberry rhubarb, pumpkin, and pecan) like his life depends on it. Derek pours them both a glass of milk, and Stiles chugs his down between bites. Derek watches him intently, eyes following his hands, his mouth, his swollen middle. Stiles lets out a burp, not bothering to cover it this time, and Derek's gaze sharpens, locks on Stiles's eyes, his mouth opens the tiniest bit, and Stiles wants to reach over and shove his tongue into that mouth, wants to _devour_ Derek, and starts thinking maybe Derek would _let him_.

"Come on, you guys, how long does it take to clean up, we wanna watch a movie!" Scott shouts from the living room, effectively snapping them both out of the daze they'd fallen into. Spell broken, Derek looks at Stiles wide-eyed, and darts away quickly, slinking out of the room.

Stiles takes a moment to process, to rub at the pressure in his stomach, before following. The only available seat is- of fucking course it is - the love seat, right next to Derek.

It's crammed with pillows and Derek's muscular thighs are spread obscenely wide, making their legs touch, hip to knee, but Derek's posture is tense, rigid, arms folded. He's never been more confused in his life.

 

***

 

Stiles wakes up with his head lolling on Derek's shoulder, movie almost over. He sits up as fast as his lethargic body allows and wipes imaginary drool off of Derek's arm. "Sorry, man, you should've woken me."

"It’s fine."

Stiles feels his belly experimentally. It hangs low, bloated, full, but his stomach is less hard, and no longer painful. He still feels sated from the werewolf mojo, and probably the turkey too.

Scott leans over from the chair next to the love seat, where Allison is sprawled on his lap, asleep. "Yo, Stiles," he whispers, "We're gonna meet up at Derek's later for a bonfire, you in?"

"Hell yeah, I'm in."

 

***

 

When everyone leaves, Stiles goes up to his room, and straight for his floor length mirror. He looks insanely bloated, his belly stretching the fabric of his sweater, framing it, creating a large shadow where his belly-button is. Stripping without finesse, Stiles takes in the sight of his pale, soft, rippling flesh and squeezes, massages. This, of course, devolves into a short but explosive jerk-off session, after which Stiles passes the fuck out.

After a short catnap, Stiles feels reenergized, dresses in his more customary t-shirt and plaid combo, and heads out. On the way, He picks up a twelve pack from the supermarket where they're least likely to recognize him and confiscate his very expensive fake ID.

When he gets to Derek's, the front yard is lit by the headlights of the Camaro; Scott and Isaac are attempting to start up the fire. Stiles is dead certain at least one of them _actually_ knows how to do it (definitely Allison, probably Derek) but they're clearly enjoying watching the idiots fail spectacularly.

Stiles takes pity and helps them set up sticks in a teepee formation spreading kindling around.

"Where’d you learn to do that?" Boyd asks.

"I used to go camping with my mom a lot. She never let me set the fire but I remember watching her do it."

Derek fits his broad palm between Stiles's shoulder blades and Stiles sinks back into the contact. Okay, so he’s not being weird about earlier, cool.

Stiles sits on the cold ground, leans back on his hands, toes stretched in towards the fire. Derek brings Stiles a beer; one of Derek's fancy craft brews, and Stiles toasts him, opens the bottle with his keys, and gulps it down quickly. He's still pretty full of food, and if he wants to catch up to Lightweight McCall - when it comes to wolfsbane liquor anyway - he's gonna have to work fast. The brew is hoppy, settling heavily in his gut.

"You know, you're supposed to savor those, not chug them.”

Stiles smiles "Sorry, sourwolf. I promise I'll savor the next one."

Derek rolls his eyes, but obediently goes inside to fetch another bottle.

"Damn, Stiles, you sure got your boy whipped," Erica jeers, low, but not low enough for werewolf hearing by a long shot.

"Oh my god, shut up." Stiles can feel his face heat.

"I'm serious, Stilinski. Get it _in_ already."

"I'm flattered you think I'm capable of getting _it_ anywhere in the vicinity of Derek Hale, but it's never gonna happen. No need to rub it in."

"Are you fucking kidding me, the guy’s been making goo-goo eyes at you all night. Possibly every waking moment he's ever spent in your presence."

"Um, not unless you count death glares as goo-goo eyes."

"She’s right, bro, I think he's pretty into you." Scott holds out his fist but Stiles refuses to pound it on principle.

"Wait, you think? He's into me?! Since when? Scotty why didn't you tell me?! Dude you need to tell me right now! Why do you think that? Does he smell attracted to me? Oh my _god_ , Is he-"

"Stilinski, alphas can mask their scents, I know you know this," Boyd interrupts.

"NO, I KNOW THAT BUT-"

"STILES," Erica growls, throwing a marshmallow at his face.

"Ah! What the hell!" Stiles yells, just as Derek marches out of his house, scowling and flustered, Jackson and Lydia at his heels.

Derek offers another beer, a different craft brew, and Stiles desperately wants to down it quick, but as promised, he sips and fucking savors it instead. It's pretty good, actually, now that he's paying attention. Citrusy.

With two of Derek’s beers and four of his own cans of Guinness, Stiles is feeling pretty drunk, finally. He’s double-fisting two s’mores – one made for him by Lydia, who insists that vegitarian marshmallows and organic chocolate and graham crackers taste the same if not better, and the other made by Boyd, who insists that that’s bullshit and makes him a normal one. Probably too drunk to tell the difference anyway, Stiles doesn’t settle their argument, but eats both s’mores with gusto.

As he’s busy licking melted marshmallow off his fingers, Scott elbows him in the side and tilts his head in Derek’s direction. Stiles looks at him; he’s gripping his glass hard, breathing heavily through his nostrils, face red, looking kind of pissed off to be honest. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to be seeing, here, so he gives Scott his best flailing _what the fuck_ expression. Scott rolls his eyes, and goes back to his and Isaac’s conversation about puppies.

Popping his fourth can of Guinness, Stiles pats his liquid filled gut, hearing it slosh around, and chugs. He can feel Derek staring at him, and when he looks up, Derek’s eyes are dark, intense, heated. Stiles licks his numb lips, and Derek’s gaze drops to them, drops further, down to Stiles’s belly, then away, into the fire.

Confused and kind of turned on, Stiles sips some beer and takes the bowl being passed around. Stiles had left his weed at school, because hello, sheriff’s son, but Scott had no reason to. A few hits in, and Stiles feels _damn good_. He doesn’t even care about Derek being weird at him. Well okay he cares a little, but everything feels soft and amazing and _wow_. Between the alcohol and the fire, Stiles starts sweating, takes off his plaid button-down, gets down to his fitted T-shirt, and lies in the grass, looking at the stars.

“Shit, Stilinski’s plastered,” Jackson says, sounding like a d-bag. He always sounds like a d-bag. Stiles raises both middle fingers and waves them in his direction without getting up.

Derek’s fucking perfect amazing beautiful face comes into Stiles’s view, and his answering grin is probably ridiculous looking. “Yo, Derek.”

“Hey, Stiles. How you feeling?”

“God, great, fucking - _amazing_. How’re _you_? You look _awesome_.”

Derek raises an eyebrow and smirks sexily, god Stiles just wants all up on that. All day every day, forever and ever.

“C’mon, get up,” He says, patting Stiles’s pudgy stomach, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of Stiles’s lower belly, where his shirt has ridden up a little. “You’re not falling asleep on my lawn.”

“’M not falling asleep, Derek. Jus’ let me lay here.” Stiles tugs on Derek’s shirt. “I know! You should lay here with me, it’s really nice, promise.” Derek sighs, rolls his eyes, but flops down next to him, arm resting against his. “See? ‘S nice. You’re nice. Like, you want everyone to think you’re this huge asshole but god, Derek, you’re like such a good person, you know? I really. You’re just r’ly great.” Derek is still staring up at the sky, not at Stiles, but his face softens, becomes vulnerable, hopeful, a little sad.

“Thanks, Stiles,” Derek says, so quiet.

“I mean it.”

Derek smiles, finally looking at Stiles, eyes reflecting the moonlight. “I know.”

Heart in his throat, Stiles leans in just a little bit, looks between Derek’s lips and his eyes, feeling determined. He’s going to kiss Derek, and no one is stopping him.

Except, Derek turns away, gets up, walks back in the house. He leaves Stiles alone in the grass, hand outstretched in the warm patch were Derek’s body just rested.

He’s cold, puts on his flannel, and sits up, staring into the embers of the dying fire. Scott places a hand on his shoulder in solidarity. 

Derek eventually comes back, kneels next to Stiles, hands him a water bottle, and says, “Drink this.”

“Thanks. Look, I’m sorry-”

“For what?”

“For? Um, I-”

“You didn’t’ do anything, Stiles.”

“But I-”

“It’s nothing. It’s not your problem, okay?”

“Uh, okay. Are. Are we good?”

“’Course,” Derek says, smile not quite reaching his eyes. He pats Stiles on the shin, stands up, and walks over to talk to Lydia.

“Oh,” Stiles breathes out.

“You want a ride home, buddy?” Scott asks.

“I think I fucked it up, man.” He takes Scott’s offered hand, pulls himself up, and balances precariously on his legs.

“Naw, he’ll come around. C’mon Allison’s gonna drive us.”

 

***

 

Stiles is a little ashamed to admit that, upon arriving home, Stiles immediately goes for the fridge, takes the whole rest of the chocolate pie up to his room, and eats his feelings. For a moment, he’s able to forget about fucking Derek’s stupid beautiful perfect everything, that _asshole_.

Gorging himself on pie, Stiles falls into a heap on his bed, still drunk, high, stomach impossibly bloated and painful without Derek’s magic touch. He writhes around, massaging his gut until he falls asleep.

He wakes up hung-over and miserable; mouth, hands, and chest splattered in dried chocolate, empty bowl mashed into his face. Stiles stays home that day, eating leftovers and watching sports with his dad, who, thankfully, doesn’t ask.

 

***

 

Driving back to school the next day, Stiles gets a text.

Message From: Derek ‘Sourwolf’ Hale

**Derek** : _See you, Stiles_.

Stiles thinks briefly about playing it cool. Instead, stopped at a light, he sends: _I miss you already you fucking asshole_.

Within the week, their contact returns mostly to normal. They call, text, all like before. Stiles wants to be grateful for it, that Derek is willing to even be friends with someone who’s so obviously in love with him, but he _wants_ Derek, still. 

When he’s not working relentlessly on finals, Stiles spends a lot of time getting stoned and emotionally eating. In the couple of weeks after Thanksgiving, he gains another five pounds. 


	3. SURPRISE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles shoves him away from the door and wraps his arms tight around Derek's ribcage. Huffing out a laugh, Derek squeezes him back. Stiles catches himself sinking into the contact where Derek is rubbing his face all over his neck, and cuts the hug off quickly. He learned the hard way how difficult it is to keep his heartbeat even and arousal in check with Derek that close, nuzzling him, smelling amazing, as usual.
> 
> As he pulls back, Derek's hands keep contact for a few seconds longer; they skim Stiles's soft sides that now pillow out slightly, above the waistband of his jeans. Stiles sucks in a harsh breath, heat sliding up his spine, and pushes his way past the werewolf to throw himself into his desk chair.

"Jesus fuck!" Stiles flails as he comes face to face with none other than Derek Hale, lurking in Stiles's dorm room. Well, lounging casually on his bed anyway. It's just like old times, except Derek is wearing a shit eating grin rather than his patented scowl. "Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me, dude, what the hell? You really need to stop doing that!"

Derek stands up and fucking prowls over to where he’s standing in the doorway. Stiles shuts the door and turns to face the werewolf, who is still smiling, now with a soft fondness. " You’re off your game, Stiles, I need to get you used to surprises again for when you come back home."

"Ha, right ok. What the hell are you doing here, jerk?"

"Wow, Stiles, I'm hurt. If you don't want me here, I guess I'll just go." Derek shifts closer to Stiles, reaching around him for the door handle.

Instead, Stiles shoves him away from the door and wraps his arms tight around Derek's ribcage. Huffing out a laugh, Derek squeezes him back. Stiles catches himself sinking into the contact where Derek is rubbing his face all over his neck, and cuts the hug off quickly. He learned the _hard_ way how difficult it is to keep his heartbeat even and arousal in check with Derek that close, nuzzling him, smelling amazing, as usual.

As he pulls back, Derek's hands keep contact for a few seconds longer; they skim Stiles's soft sides that now pillow out slightly, above the waistband of his jeans. Stiles sucks in a harsh breath, heat sliding up his spine, and pushes his way past the werewolf to throw himself into his desk chair. Derek takes the bed again.

"You smell like weed,” Derek says, conversationally.

"Uhhhh."

Derek smirks, rolling his glittery grey hazel eyes. Stiles wishes he didn't find it so attractive.

"I mean, yeah, I guess I smoked some earlier so?"

"Hmm."

"Oh my god what, you're not gonna like tell my dad I’m a pothead or something are you?"

"What."

"I donno man, stop with the judgy eyebrows already!"

"Stiles, I really don't care if you smoke weed."

"O-Kay? Cool. That's cool."

"Do you have any classes today?"

"No, you freak, it's Saturday."

"Good."

 "Yeah, good. So um, what's the occasion? I mean, why'd you come to see me? Uh, _us_ , I mean, obviously Lydia and Scott too right? The pack." 

Derek shrugs "Just thought I'd come for a visit. You don't mind, do you?" His tone is nonchalant, but Stiles is practiced enough to hear the edge of vulnerability in the words.

"No! Dude, of course not, oh my god. I just wish you'd called first, I would've, you know, cleaned or something." He gestures at the clothes and books and snack boxes that litter the floor.

"Really."

"Yeah, I donno maybe! Also I wish you wouldn't scare me like that, my fragile heart isn't used to constant terror like it once was."

"Sorry," Derek smirks, sounding anything but. "Why don't you show me around campus." It doesn't sound like a request.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Okay sourwolf, lets go."

His hair is weird and floppy with last night's hair product, he hasn't showered yet, and he hasn't done laundry in a few weeks. Stiles is wearing one of his last clean shirts, one he bought last summer, and it's obviously way too small. It hugs his small, round belly, tightly, and barely passes over the waistband of his jeans. Couldn't Derek have at least given him some notice? He’s just not prepared for this, at all.

***

On their way through the quad, they run into Scott. "Hey, man! What're you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd drop by, check out the campus,” Derek says.

"Dude, how come you didn't tell me he was coming?"

"I didn't know, man, he just showed up in my room like an hour ago like a total creeper."

"I resent that."

Stiles waves him off, and Scott glances between them suspiciously. "Anyway dude I was just off to the gym, you guys coming to the Alpha Delta Theta party later?"

"Uhh yeah? I mean I donno, what do you think, Der? I mean we don't have to, obviously, I know it's not exactly your thing so I don't know we could do something else like-"

"Stiles. It's fine."

"What, really? You want to go to a college party?"

"Don't sound so incredulous. I have been to parties before."

" _Really?_ "

"You guys are so dumb, I’ll see you later," Scott says, waving goodbye.

Derek is staring at Stiles with a calculating glint in his eyes. It’s fucking terrifying. "Hey, Scott, sure you don't wanna bring Stiles with you, he's looking a little soft," Derek says with a smirk, glancing down to Stiles's belly.

Scott cackles. "I've been trying the whole semester bro, you see how well that's going."

"Oh my god, fuck off, I hate both of you."

"Aww he's blushing. Sorry man, I'm just teasing. You look good, really."

Stiles gives Scott the finger as he walks backwards towards the gym, and he grabs Derek's arm, leading him down to the alcove of trees by a giant bronze statue of a penguin. It's his favorite spot.

"He's right you know. You look good, Stiles."

"What?" Stiles freezes.

Derek rolls his eyes. "It... Suits you. And you look happy here. Relaxed. It's a good look for you."

Stiles's heartbeat is suddenly loud and fast in his ears "Uh. That's. Thanks?"

"You're welcome." Derek is smiling now, soft and sweet, barely there, but unmistakable. His perfect face is lit by soft afternoon sunlight and he looks so young. Stiles can't look away. A shrill sound breaks the moment. He realizes he's still gripping Derek's leather covered bicep and lets go abruptly to fumble for his phone.

"Hey! Hey, um. What's up?" Stiles can't look away from Derek's eyes, can't breathe.

"Hey baby, I was wondering if you wanted to go grab a bite to eat before the party tonight," Jimmy says from the other end of the line. Derek's face shuts down; he looks away but stays close. Probably to listen in better, the stalker.

"Uh, can't, man, sorry. Friend from back home came to visit, I'm hanging out with him, but I'll see you later?"

"What? You didn't tell me that."

"I didn't know. It was sort of a last minute... Thing. Surprise."

"Whatever. Bring him along if you want."

"Uhh."

Derek's eyes light with challenge. "Yeah, Stiles, why don't you invite me along to meet your _friends_."

"Uhh."

"Stiles?" Jimmy asks.

"Yeah, um, we'll be there," he says, cringing. 

"Cool, we're gonna meet at Carlitos at eight. Love you."

"Yeah. Y-" Stiles hangs up, heart pounding. This is bad. He can't tell how yet, but he's pretty sure shit's about to go down.

Fuck, he hadn't even thought about his boyfriend since Derek got there. And Jimmy knows how he feels about Derek. He hadn’t meant for him to find out, exactly, but Jimmy could just _tell_ by the way Stiles would talk about him. Everyone could tell, but Derek - _thank god_. This was a shitstorm waiting to happen.

And something about the way Derek looked, when he said he wanted to come. It was frankly terrifying. Unnerving at best. 

“You’re up to something. I don’t know what yet, but I’ll find out.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Derek says, with possibly the worst mimicry of innocence ever attempted.

***

Dinner is, as predicted, sufficiently awkward and unbearable. First, Stiles watches the dawning realization of _which_ friend, exactly, came for a visit on poor Jimmy's face. And, you know, Jimmy's pretty good looking himself, but Stiles can see that he's not at all prepared for the epic level of supernatural hotness that Derek Hale brings to the table. Derek's face rests in his most deliberately casual glower, but his body is tense, muscles straining. "Hey, Jimmy, this is Derek. Derek, Jimmy." they shake hands with clear murderous intent.

"I've heard a lot about you, Hale."

"Oh yeah? Wish I could say the same."

Stiles sighs, and accepts that he's in for a long night. He orders a shot of tequila.

"Please be nice, dude," Stiles mumbles, knowing only Derek will hear him.

"So how long are you in town for?" Jimmy asks, forced cheer in his voice.

"Just the weekend. Wanted to come see Stiles, he missed me too much," Derek says, smirking at Stiles, who feels his face get hot.

"Hmm, aren't you a little old to be hanging out with college freshmen? What are you, 35?"

"Derek is _very_ immature for his age," Stiles adds, deflecting. "And he's 26. The scowl and the beard make him look a bit older though, I have to say."

Jimmy is still shooting Derek a challenging glare, but Derek seems momentarily distracted by Stiles, eyes narrowed playfully at him.

"In a good way, though?" Stiles adds, awkwardly, and shoves tortilla chips in his mouth to keep himself from talking.

Stiles experiences the brief, simultaneous relief of his shot and margarita arriving, and his and Jimmy's mutual friends filling the table.

He takes the shot, quick, says "Guys, this is Derek. And that's Heather, Tom, Alex, and Carlos.”

"Holy shit, it's the famous Derek. Stiles talks about you _constantly_ ," Heather says, conspiratorially.

"Oh my god shut the fuck up," Stiles pleads. Derek looks smug, inches infinitesimally towards Stiles.

"Seriously, every time he gets a text from you, oh my god you should see his face it's hysterical. He lights up like a kid in a fucking candy store.”

"Like Stiles in a candy store," Carlos adds, that asshole.

"True that," Tom says, high-fiving Carlos.

Stiles sighs, resigned. "I hate every one of you, you're not my friends."

Jimmy is looking pissed now, slouched in his seat, glaring daggers alternately at Stiles and Derek. He stretches out his leg to rest against his boyfriend’s in a gesture of comfort, but Jimmy pulls away. Stiles drowns himself in his large margarita and basket of chips and salsa. Ordering more chips, queso, and another shot when the waiter comes back, Stiles tries to think of any way to make the conversation like ten percent less awful, but comes up short.

Derek places his leg against Stiles's jittery one under the table and looks apologetic. Stiles offers him a small upturn of his lips that doesn't really feel like a smile.  He doesn't say anything seriously douchey for the rest of the meal, though, but Stiles can't say the same for Jimmy, who's throwing out thinly veiled barbs every other sentence. Derek's face gets increasingly more murderous; the tension is palpable, though his other friends do their best to lighten the mood.

Stiles probably devours an entire basket of chips and queso, and orders another margarita with his taco salad and two large chimichangas. He tries to chug down the rest of his second margarita before the third arrives and gets a brain freeze.

Derek touches his arm and whispers into his ear "maybe you should slow down a little, Stiles."

Stiles laughs a little hysterically. "No way, dude, I'm not nearly drunk enough for this shit yet." Derek frowns, looking concerned. He caves. "Fine, I'll slow down, okay?" Derek nods.

He shoves his taco salad down fast, partially to avoid saying anything to anyone, stifles a burp, and immediately starts on the chimichangas. They're about as thick as his fist, and long as his hand, outstretched, but his stomach is stretched enough from near constant gorging, the first one doesn't even faze him. The second is a challenge, but Stiles does love a challenge.

With the last swallow of sweet alcohol Stiles cups his distended abdomen and struggles to breathe, looks at Derek, who appears to be having a similar breathing problem, eyes glazed over.

Jimmy is staring at Stiles with clear disgust in his eyes. Oh. Stiles doesn't usually stuff himself like this in front of his boyfriend, but he hadn't been thinking. Jimmy closes his tab and leaves with his friends in tow, not saying a word to Stiles or Derek, and Stiles lets out a breath.

"Your boyfriend is kind of an asshole."

Stiles huffs out an ugly laugh. "Yeah, sorry about him, Der, he's probably just jealous of you."

"Obviously. But that's no reason to take it out on you, what was that about?"

"I have no fucking idea, man. Can I get another drink now?"

"How about dessert?"

"Done."

He orders a fried ice cream, Derek the sopaipilla, and Stiles finally relaxes again.

"Thanks, Derek."

"For what?"

"I donno, being cool? Putting up with that shit and not ripping out anyone's throat with your teeth? Staying here with me while I'm being pathetic and eating my feelings."

Derek smiles. "I like being with you, pathetic or not."

Stiles is helpless to stop his own grin. He’s sure it looks completely besotted, so he ducks his head down, chews on the end of the straw in the Coke Derek got him, so his mouth isn't free to say something totally stupid, like _I love being with you too, Derek, let's be together forever._

When his ice cream comes, he fucking inhales it, not out of anxiety anymore, but out of happiness. Stiles isn't entirely sure anymore that there's anything in the emotional spectrum that wouldn't make him want to eat. Derek offers Stiles over half of his own dessert, too, and Stiles just can’t say no to food.

The combination of soda and ice cream in his gut makes him burp, and he finally feels piercing pain, past the numbness the alcohol gave him. "Come on," Derek says gently, standing up and tugging on Stiles's arm. 

Stiles tries to stand, His full gut hangs heavy in front of him, paralyzing him with pain with every movement. "Ugh," Stiles burps, "I think I need to sit for awhile, dude, just let me die here."

“Not on my watch.” Derek gets his strong arm underneath Stiles's, and wraps it around his ribcage, supporting him.

“My hero.” He pretty much carries Stiles, who is stumbling under the weight of his gluttony, to the bathroom. It's empty, and Stiles glimpses himself in the mirror. He’s huge and swollen, a sliver of his belly peeking out from below his shirt, and jeans cutting into his waist. Once inside the handicapped stall, Derek guides Stiles to lean against the wall and slips his palm underneath Stiles’s T-shirt to rest on the crest of his protruding gut, and takes his pain gradually.

Stiles moans, and instinctively wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders. Derek's hand moves from the top of his belly, to the side, still under his shirt, and he leans into Stiles, face buried in his neck. They're both breathing heavily, in tandem, as sparks rush through Stiles's system. He grasps at Derek's back, his neck, pressing them impossibly closer, so that Derek's flat stomach now rests lightly, teasingly against Stiles's soft, bloated one. 

Just as Derek's warm, wet lips touch gently to Stiles's neck, making him cry out, someone crashes through the bathroom door, and starts retching into the sink.

It's a serious mood-killer, and though no longer in pain, Stiles's full belly violently protests to the sound and smell of vomit. They disentangle themselves from one another and sneak out of the bathroom somewhat awkwardly. Stiles has to smother is hysterical giggling into Derek's shoulder once they pay and make it outside.

***

They go back to Stiles's dorm so he can shower and pick up his booze. He tries unsuccessfully not to jerk off in the shower while soaping up his bloated, chubby body. But whatever, Derek can wait an extra couple minutes. Hopefully he’s not too traumatized by any noises he might’ve heard. Stiles is not quiet in bed, to no one's surprise. Unthinking, Stiles had gone into the bathroom without his change of clothes, so now he has to go back into his room, towel around his waist, and face Derek without a shirt. Fuck. He tries to suck in his gut, but he's still too stuffed for it to really make much of a difference. Stalling for time, Stiles dries and styles his hair meticulously, brushes his teeth, flosses, clips his fingernails.

Finally, Stiles takes a deep breath and opens the door. Derek is lounging on his bed, reading, but when he comes in, he says "Hey, Stiles-" looks up, and freezes. Lips parted, his gaze wanders Stiles's body. Embarrassed, Stiles rushes to find something to wear. Fumbling in his drawers, he finds a somewhat loose red v-neck and only-slightly-too-small skinny jeans that he has to wiggle into.

When he's got it on, he looks back at Derek, who's flushed down to his neck; he has his nose in the book again, eyes unfocused and unmoving, breathing shallowly. "Sorry, I. Um, forgot to bring clothes with me so..."

He still doesn't look up from the book. "It's - it's fine," Derek says, sounding strained. 

Stiles reaches into his closet, pulls out his favorite brown bomber jacket, and leaves it unzipped. "Okay, ready to go, Der?"

Derek finally lifts his head up, gives him another caressing once-over, looking dazed. " _Wow_. Stiles you look..."

"I know, I'm running out of clean laundry, like this is all I had that looks kind of decent so-"

"No, Stiles, it's. You look - really good."

"Oh, um. Shit. Thanks, man. You look - good, too. I mean you always look really good so I don't usually say anything, I pretty much assumed you knew that? But if you want me to l tell you more often I can totally do that, no problem. It'll probably get annoying though, cause it'll be like, literally every time I see you, but, um. Okay who's ready to get drunk? Let's just go, Oh my god."

***

When they get there, the party is already in full swing, and Stiles gets himself a solo cup of beer from the keg, while Derek sips at his bottle of wolfsbane-infused liquor. Stiles mingles - Derek a steady presence at his side. He even looks comfortable, almost like he’s happy to be there, talking to Stiles’s friends, getting drunk with him. Stiles can’t stop smiling.

Of course, that’s before he runs into Jimmy, who’s looking shitfaced and livid – At Stiles, thankfully, he’s not sure how good a tipsy Derek is at controlling the shift. Although it might make him angrier that it’s directed at Stiles – yep, there go his eyes. “Hey, Derek, why don’t you go outside or something, I wanna talk to Jimmy for a minute, okay?” Derek looks like he’d literally rather do anything else than leave Stiles alone right then, but he nods, nostrils flaring in annoyance, before stalking out the back door.

Stiles leads Jimmy to a spare room. “What the hell dude, what’s your problem?”

“What’s my _problem_? You parade that asshole around campus and shove it in my face and you wanna know what my _problem_ is?”

“He’s my friend, dude! He’s gonna be in my life whether you like it or not.”

“Yeah well I _don’t_ like it! You’re obviously in love with the guy, just admit it!”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Yes, I am, I thought you knew that. But it’s never gonna happen, okay? So calm down.”

“Do you even see the way he looks at you? I think he’s actually turned on by how fat you’ve gotten, it’s _sick,_ ” Jimmy spits. Stiles flushes, embarrassed. “But you know what, I’m definitely not. I don’t know why I’m wasting my time with you, anyway, you fat fuck. I’ve put up with you gaining weight cause I thought you’d eventually stop and get hot again, but clearly I was wrong.”

“Clearly,” Stiles bites back, seeing red.

“And you never shut the fuck up, and you always smell like pot, and you can’t go two goddamn seconds without fidgeting, and you’re always telling me these useless facts as if I even care! So fuck you, Stilinski! Go ahead and fuck that chubby chasing asshole! I don’t need you!”

“Okay.”

“What?!”

“I said, _okay_. I’m gonna go fuck that chubby chasing asshole, because he’s _my_ asshole. And you know what? He’s actually a good fucking person! You’re like -sunshine and candy mountains on the outside but a giant shitty asshole on the inside! Which is literally the grossest similie ever, but it's so accurate. You know, I’m glad I know this now so I don’t have to feel bad about breaking up with you.”

“Fuck you!” Jimmy yells, charging at Stiles, shoving him back. Without really thinking, Stiles lashes out, and Jimmy is on the floor, clutching his face, groaning in pain.

“Stiles!” Derek yells, pushing back the crowd that had accumulated by the open doorway, and rushing straight for him. He checks Stiles for injuries, grabs his face, looking into his eyes, probably to check for a concussion.

“I’m fine, Derek, really.”

Derek nods, releases him, satisfied. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

“Oh my god, _yes, please_.”

***

They end up breaking into Montgomery house’s outdoor pool. It’s Stiles’s idea, of course, and he stumbles a little drunkenly out of his Chucks and socks, throws his jacket carelessly onto a chair, and jumps straight in the water gracelessly. Derek seems disinclined to join in, sits on the edge of the pool with his feet dangling in the shimmering blue water. Stiles floats on his back, face and belly peeking out of the surface of the pool, and gazes at the stars, body humming and tingling with energy.

“Why’d you do it?” Derek asks, so softly Stiles almost doesn’t hear him over the water covering his ears.

Stiles shifts his body upright to tread water, inching closer to Derek. He thinks about saying it’s because Jimmy was being a total fucker just now, but that’s not really it. He can deal with people being total fuckers sometimes; he can deal with the occasional argument, jealousy. “I donno. Just wanted to. He’s not – what I want.”

“What _do_ you want?”

Stiles doesn’t say, _you_ , but it’s a near thing. “I donno,” he says, instead, but Derek catches the lie and raises an eyebrow in question. He sighs, runs his hand through is wet hair. “Someone who loves _all_ of me, not just parts of me, I guess.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, Stiles.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m serious. You deserve that. To have someone who loves all of you.”

“So do you.”

Derek smiles with his mouth, but his eyes are solemn, sad. Stiles is so close, now, he drifted right into Derek’s space without noticing. Splaying a clumsy hand on Derek’s thigh, feeling his muscles twitch, Stiles’s fingers play with some frays in the fabric.

“Why did you come to see me, Derek?” He knows now that Derek came to see _him_ , specifically. He hasn’t really gone out of his way to spend time with anyone but Stiles since he got here. But Stiles isn’t expecting an answer, not really.

Derek sighs, “It’s always hard without pack around. But, you. There’s something about you that I… It’s not just _pack_. I _missed_ you, Stiles. I came here because I wanted to see you. I missed _you_.”

Stiles’s heart swells in his chest, beating a quick, steady rhythm. He grips both of Derek’s thighs and thrusts himself out of the water enough to wrap his arms around Derek’s waist and bury his face in his hard stomach. It’s a couple of moments before Derek places one hand on Stiles’s back, the other on the back of his head, carding through his wet hair.

Stiles is still a little drunk, places a kiss on Derek’s tummy, over the soft cotton of his Henley, feels his muscles contract under his mouth, and heaves himself out of the water. He climbs over Derek, all ungainly wet limbs and Derek laughs, open. Stiles sits close to Derek on the edge of the pool, arms and legs pressed together. He’s sopping wet, must be getting Derek wet too, but Derek doesn’t complain. They sit there, looking at the stars, the play of light on the surface of the water, in easy silence.

Eventually Stiles starts to get cold and uncomfortable, but also kind of doesn’t want to leave, ever. “We should head back.”

“Mmm,” Derek (sort of) agrees, sounding sleepy. Stiles heaves his heavy body off the ground, and holds a hand out for Derek to take.

“C’mon, man, don’t you wanna get nice and cozy in some warm, dry pajamas, cuddle up and go to sleep?”

Derek takes his hand, gets up, but doesn’t move. He’s staring at Stiles’s body, glancing from head to toe, something intense in his expression Stiles doesn’t recognize. He’s self-conscious under the scrutiny and painfully aware of the way the wet fabric is clinging to his curves. It’s not hiding anything. Not the way his love handles and round belly puff out from his waistband, not the indentation where his bellybutton is, not the soft curve of what were once pecs, or the jiggle in his flesh when he moves.

Stiles steps back, half turns away, to try and coax Derek into following him. That seems to snap Derek out of it enough to start walking, a step or two behind Stiles the whole way back to his building. 


	4. My Little Buttercup Has The Sweetest Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a whim, Stiles grabs one hand, places it high on his bulging tummy, and presses it down in circles. Derek's veins turn black and Stiles removes his hand. "No, just, uh." He tries again, using Derek's palm to rub his own belly. "Just, this. I mean, if you want." Suddenly anxious that he's read the situation totally wrong, Stiles releases Derek's hand, trying to see something in Derek's puzzled expression. Derek leaves his hand where it is, and eventually, moves it on his own.

They fall asleep, side-by-side on Stiles’s twin mattress, with Stiles’s front to Derek’s back, barely touching. When Stiles wakes up, he's starfished, taking up the whole bed, and Derek is sprawled on top of him, face in his neck. Stiles huffs a quiet laugh and before his dick takes interest, inches gently from underneath Derek’s heavy body. Okay so maybe Stiles jerks off in the shower while thinking about other possible scenarios that could’ve played out, whatever.

Stiles dresses in comfy Sunday clothes, leaves his hair unstyled and fluffy, and sits squarely on Derek’s still-sleeping back. He lets out a ‘hoof’ of breath, and face muffled by the pillow says, “Oh my god, Stiles, get off of me, you’re not light anymore.” Stiles giggles and pats Derek’s head.

“Come on, dude, I wanna go get breakfast,” Stiles says, quietly, trying not to wake his passed-out roommate in the other bed.

“Of course you do,” he teases, but stirs, obediently.

When Derek comes out of the shower, Stiles pointedly tries to busy himself on his computer, tries so hard not to look. He does anyway, just a peek, and _god_ , it’s even better than he’d imagined. Rivulets of water stream down Derek’s torso and vanish into the towel at his waist, and Stiles desperately wants to lick them off. He doesn’t, though, which is really a shame.

When he turns around again, Derek is dressed in a loose, soft looking purple-grey deep v-neck t-shirt and worn in, slightly holey jeans. He looks so comfy and perfect and Stiles just wants to cuddle him.

They walk, side-by-side to JR’s, the cafeteria closest to Stiles’s dorm. It’s still a little too early for the Saturday night party crowd to be up, so it’s almost empty. Stiles loads up his tray with waffles, fruit salad, scrambled eggs with cheese, a chocolate-chip muffin, a buttered bagel, bacon, and home fries, without even the slightest fear of judgment from Derek. He’s totally at ease, anxiety free, and he eats it all, plus a second muffin, feeling pleasantly full by the time they walk back to the dorms.

***

They’re sitting squished together on his roommate’s huge beanbag chair, the roommate in question long gone, and Stiles is making Derek watch True Blood, when Scott comes over with a full bag of weed. Stiles shoots Derek an excited, questioning look and Derek shrugs agreeably. Shit yes, Stiles _so_ needs to see what Derek is like stoned. He trips over himself in his eagerness to crack the window open so they can get started.

Stiles nearly vibrates out of his skin when Derek wraps his lips around the joint and takes a stupidly enormous hit, cheeks hollowing. Derek holds in the smoke for all of five seconds, before letting it out in a rush, coughing helplessly into his fist. Scott chuckles.

“Been awhile?” Stiles teases. Derek glares without heat, and sips at Stiles’s soda to soothe his throat.

Stiles shows off, takes a practiced hit, makes shapes with the smoke as he releases it into the air, rolling it on his tongue. Derek’s eyes are already glazed, locked on his mouth. Stiles grins, smugly.

As it turns out, high!Derek is more or less the same as regular relaxed Derek, but about 500% smilier. Stiles fucking _loves_ it. Derek’s smile might actually hold first place in the list of Stiles’s favorite things on the planet. He spends the whole time talking, joking, trying to make Derek laugh, eating Oreos, and it’s the most fun he’s had in a long time. Time stands still, and his body is languid, tingly, vaguely turned on.

At one point, Derek goes to pee, and Stiles is filling his bowl. Scott gestures between Stiles and the bathroom door, making thumbs up/thumbs down motions, eyes wide and expectant. Stiles shrugs, not really knowing what to say. He mouths “Maybe,” takes a hit. He’s gonna make his move tonight, he’s decided. The sexual tension is killing him; he has to know for sure.

Scott grins, understanding, mouths, “Good luck, bro.” Stiles nods and offers the pipe in thanks but Scott waves him off. Derek emerges, Scott takes his place in the bathroom, and Stiles, feeling reckless, sucks in a lungful of sweet smoke, puts down his bowl and lighter. When Derek sits next to him again, he grabs Derek’s perfect, stubbly face in both hands, and breathes out into his startled open mouth. Derek inhales slowly, eyes fluttering shut. He holds it for a few seconds, releases smoke out of the side of his lips, licks them nervously, looks between Stiles’s eyes and mouth. The bathroom door clicks open, and Stiles releases Derek’s cheeks, settling in close beside him with a triumphant grin. Derek looks shocked.

Stiles turns to Scott, gives him a thumbs up, and Scott grins wolfishly, making the gesture back at him. Derek’s face becomes adorably confused. “So I’ve got a Skype date with Allison in a few, I’m gonna head back. You guys have fun!” Scott gives two thumbs up, again, grinning manically, and gathers his things. This is why Scott is his best bro.

Stiles reaches for the last Oreo, and hears the snick of the lighter beside him. When he’s sitting up again, Derek’s rough hands grab the sides of his neck, making him shudder and gasp. Derek blows smoke into his mouth slowly, gently, lips jut barely touching Stiles’s. Stiles breathes deep, heart pounding, skin singing with energy. Derek lets him go, and Stiles releases the smoke through his nose, eyes closed, savoring the moment.

“I got you something,” Derek says. Stiles feels a weight drop into his lap, looks down at a bag of bite-size Reeses, and laughs.

“Thanks, man, you shouldn’t have.”

“I figured your munchies would be more than a measly half a box of Oreos could handle,” Derek teases, patting Stiles’s doughy belly. Stiles’s flesh vibrates under the contact, craving more. Derek presses play on the next episode of True Blood, and settles back, getting comfy in the beanbag chair.

Nervous, excited, Stiles eats the whole bag in one and a half episodes, licks his fingers clean of chocolate. He rests a hand on the top of his bulging stomach. Derek pulls out his phone and orders sandwich delivery for a late lunch. Stiles is only sort of surprised to learn that Derek knows his favorite.

Twelve inches of thick bread filled to bursting with meat and cheese later, Stiles is stuffed. He burps, slouched in the chair, stomach resting heavily on top of him. He’s rubbing it, easing the pressure.

Derek moves his hand towards Stiles, but Stiles grabs his wrist. “You don’t have to, Derek. It doesn’t really hurt that much.”

“It’s okay, let me.” Stiles lets his hand go, and it sneaks under his shirt, rubbing Stiles’s bloated abdomen.

“Unhh,” Stiles says, eloquently. Derek finally rests his hand in one place long enough to take what little pain there is in Stiles’s gut, before he resumes stroking. Stiles is about point three seconds from popping a boner and as much as he wants to lay back and enjoy the touch, he sits up, says “Thanks, Der, I feel much better.”

Derek retracts his hand, but still looks devious. “Good, I have a surprise for you.”

“If it’s more Reeses, I’m gonna have to pass, dude. I’m burnt out.”

Derek gets up, says, “Be right back,” and leaves the room. He comes back 2 minutes later with two pints of Ben & Jerry’s and a couple of plastic spoons, hands one of each to Stiles.

“Nice, thanks, man. Where’d you get this?” He asks, opening his Americone Dream and spooning a huge bite into his mouth.

“The kitchen down the hall.”

“You stole these from the public refrigerator? Rude.” The revelation does nothing to slow his eating, though.

“No, I bought it and put it there.”

“What? When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Lemme get this straight,” Stiles mumbles through a mouthful. He swallows and continues, “On your way to show up completely unannounced at my place, you stopped at a grocery store to buy two pints of Ben & Jerry’s, because you planned on sitting in my dorm and eating ice cream with me?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

They fall into companionable silence and start another episode. Derek is starting to get invested; it’s pretty adorable. Stiles finishes the pint, belly full and warm, and not five seconds later, Derek silently offers his own. "Dude, are you crazy? No fucking way."

"I could..." Derek raises his hand, and Stiles's curiosity gets the better of him.

"Why do you do that?"

"You're in pain," he says, as if that's obvious.

"No, I mean, yeah but. That's not the whole reason, is it? Besides, it's not as if I don't inflict it on myself."

"I... Want to."

"That’s it?"

"Yeah."

Stiles sighs, and resigns himself to zero answers and eating his body weight in ice cream. The benefits of the latter sort of weigh out the frustration of the former anyway. He drags Derek's hand onto his rounded belly, closes his eyes, and relaxes into the sensation of Derek healing his body. "Mmm," Stiles hums.

He's feeling tingly, and opens his mouth to tell Derek to stop when suddenly it’s invaded by a huge spoonful of ice cream. Stiles nearly chokes, surprised, and sputters through the mouthful, "Oh my god, what the hell?!"

Derek is grinning, unrepentant, holding out another spoonful. Stiles eyes him dubiously. "You are so fucking weird," he says, wrapping his lips around the spoon, licks at the melting dessert and draws it into his mouth. Derek is looking lost, flushed, and he feeds Stiles what was left of his pint, so slowly. He's pretty sure neither of them are paying any attention to the show anymore.

When he finishes, Stiles burps softly, sated, and licks the last of it from his cold lips. "Thanks," he says. Derek doesn't reply, he looks at the TV again but is clearly not watching, and his hands move restlessly on his thighs.

On a whim, Stiles grabs one, places it high on his bulging tummy, and presses it down in circles. Derek's veins turn black and Stiles removes his hand. "No, just, uh." He tries again, using Derek's palm to rub his own belly. "Just, this. I mean, if you want." Suddenly anxious that he's read the situation totally wrong, Stiles releases Derek's hand, trying to see something in Derek's puzzled expression. Derek leaves his hand where it is, and eventually, moves it on his own.

Stiles gasps, his skin tingling pleasantly, and he tries desperately just to gain comfort from the touch, not get noticeably aroused. Slowly his body relaxes, calm and satisfied, as Derek's hands soothe the lingering pain from Stiles's full stomach without magic.

Stiles wakes up, laying on his side, half on the beanbag, half on the floor. Derek is curled against his back; his right arm pillowed underneath his head, and left clutching Stiles's plump middle.

Gently turning over, Stiles takes a moment to study Derek's sleeping face. He looks content, young, phenomenally beautiful. Stiles wants to caress his stubble, kiss him awake, but he doesn't. That'd be a little creepy for a first kiss.

Anyway he's not holding out on their first kiss happening ever, at all. Derek is probably just has a secret weirdly tactile, mothering streak or something. Maybe he's starved for affection, and god knows Stiles would give Derek as much affection as he ever wanted. It was more likely than him being actually legitimately interested in Stiles anyway. Why does he always fall for spectacularly unattainable hot people? It’s a curse.

A little maudlin now, Stiles drifts in and out of consciousness for a long while. Derek's phone buzzes, and he finally stirs, shutting off the alarm blearily. "I should head out."

"Oh."

***

Derek is getting ready to leave, packing his things, and Stiles’s heart sinks. He wishes the weekend could’ve lasted forever. And Stiles never did make his move; he’s running out of time. He’d had plenty of opportunities, but seriously, he’s spent years now trying to talk himself into kissing Derek Hale, why should he be any less of a chickenshit now?

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

Derek looks surprised, “Me too.” He bends down to put on his shoes, stands up, takes a deep breath, continues, “But I’m glad you have this, Stiles. It’s better without m-better that you have somewhere safe. Somewhere you’re not in danger all the time.”

Let it not be said Stiles can’t read between the lines. “Derek, it’s not your fault I’m in danger all the time.”

“It really kind of is.”

“No! Okay? You’re not responsible for _everything_. It’s not your fault Beacon Hills is a shitshow. And honestly? It doesn’t even matter. Beacon Hills is my home, I’m _always_ gonna come back.”

“Stiles, you deserve-”

“So do you! Look, what I said yesterday – I meant that. You deserve to be happy, Derek.” Derek is silent, looking broken. “Listen to me. Derek Hale, you are one of the best fucking people I know. You’re brave, and smart, and loyal. You’re _always_ there for people you care about, and even people you don’t give a fuck about. You care and you help people even when you don’t want to, when they don’t deserve it. No matter how much life shits on you, you keep going, keep trying, hoping for something better. God, you’re so strong, do you know that? You’re ten times the person anyone could even hope to be. And not to mention beautiful, I mean, _god_ , it’s just _unfair_. You’re _perfect_ , Derek-”

Derek cuts off his rambling with a kiss, sucking on Stiles's full bottom lip. Stiles whimpers, breath stuttering out of him as Derek pulls away. Stiles keeps his eyes closed, licks his lips, says, breathy, "What. Did that just happen? Am I dreaming?" Derek doesn't say anything so Stiles cracks open his eyes to see Derek's amused expression. " Did you do that on purpose?"

"Yes..." Derek says, incredulously.

"But why, what, do you, I mean, do you like, do you even like me?" it comes out in a rush of breath, barely even sounding like words; Stiles's heart is beating out of his chest.

"Yes, I _like_ -like you, Stiles, will you go steady with me?"

"Now is _not_ the time for your sass, Derek!"

He rolls his eyes. "I really do like you, Stiles. I _wanted_ to kiss you. I’ve _always_ wanted to kiss you. I want to _keep_ kissing you. I want you to be _mine_. Okay?"

"Oh my god since when?!” Stiles’s arms flail wildly. “Wait, wait, I tried to kiss you when I was home for Thanksgiving like, at least twice, why didn’t you let me? Why did you leave?”

Derek sighs, looks away. "I didn't think..."

"If you say 'I didn't think I deserved you or nice things in general' than I'm seriously going to kick your ass."

Derek rolls his eyes again, but doesn't contradict him, starts over. "Where do you want me to start? I'm so much older than you, you were drunk, or high, you had a boyfriend... I didn't think you felt that way about me-"

"Seriously? Don’t you have werewolf super-senses? How could you not know how I feel about you?! Everyone knows! Even Jackson knows! I am so fucking in love with you, it's not even funny!"

Stiles realizes his mistake too late. He said the love word already. Fuck his life. But then Derek grins, huge and sunny. Stiles's heart stops; he's never seen anything so fucking breathtaking. Derek reels him in by the back of his neck, and still smiling, takes Stiles's lips with his own, firm and passionate, makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat. He pulls away too soon, and Stiles chases his mouth. Smile fading from his lips, but not his eyes, Derek whispers, "I love you so fucking much, Stiles."

Stiles can’t breathe, he exhales sharply, gasps. He’s probably going into shock. "I know," Stiles says, smirking. It's a lie, he knows Derek can tell. Derek rolls his eyes for like the 40th time this conversation, and kisses him quiet. He grabs Stiles’s pudgy hips, and spins him so he falls against the wall with a dull thud. Stiles moans and Derek pushes his tongue into Stiles's mouth. It gets hot, dirty, desperate.

Stiles arches into Derek, grabs at the lapels of his jacket, pulls him close, grinds against him, sucks on Derek’s tongue. He’s been riding on a knife’s edge of arousal since Derek showed up randomly in his room yesterday (he’s had a truly embarrassing number of fantasies that start out just like that), and he’s been hard since that second kiss.

Their hips fit together, Stiles's belly squished in between their bodies and Stiles has to break the kiss to arch his head back and catch his breath. Derek's hands wander to Stiles's plush ass, and he growls, shifting his head to suck at Stiles's neck. "Aah-ah, fuck, Derek," Stiles shouts, gripping Derek's hair, shuddering against him. Derek gasps, and bites down. “Oh, _Christ_.”

Everywhere Derek touches him is tingling, on fire. “What do you want, Stiles?” Derek breathes against his ear, lips and tongue playing with the lobe.

“Are you f-fucking kidding me? Ah. I just want _you_ , you asshole. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve never wanted anyone this much in my _life, oh my_ _god, please keep doing that_.”

Derek has the audacity to laugh, fingers gripping, toying with the fat on his sides. He grips the hem of Stiles’s T-shirt and raises it up, fingers trailing over soft, plush flesh. Stiles shivers, gets impatient, and rips his shirt off, throwing it across the room, and immediately removes Derek’s shirt, too.

Derek looks overcome, reaches for Stiles tentatively as he gets his mouth back on Stiles’s throat. He’s experimenting, stroking Stiles’s sides, his belly, light, and then hard, gripping, almost painful. Stiles can’t decide which he likes better, and he can’t stop shaking.

Derek’s mouth goes lower, down to his chest, over to his nipple, sucking and groping the small pocket of fat, and Stiles moans low. He kneels, kisses Stiles’s still-bloated, full stomach, licks at it, eager, passionate. Derek’s hands frame it’s sides and squeeze, and Derek’s breath stutters on an exhale, resting his face there as if trying to calm down. 

“Do you… like it? Stiles asks, quiet.

“Yes.” Derek answers, immediate and sincere. “You’re so beautiful, Stiles.” He nibbles at Stiles’s lower belly, and unzips his pants.

“He was right? Oh my god, I can’t believe Jimmy was right. You _do_ like my fat, you kinky fucker.”

“So do you.”

“Fair en-ah. Holy fucking Christ, oh my _god,_ _Derek_!” Stiles screams, as Derek takes Stiles in his mouth, licking at the tip, lips around the head, before dipping down, setting a relentless rhythm, still massaging Stiles’s belly.

Stiles thinks he might pass out, it’s too good, to hot, god, what is his tongue even doing? He’s feeling a dozen sensations at once and can’t parse through them all, he can’t control his ragged breath, the helpless noises he’s making. Derek plays with his balls one-handed and laps at his dick and his belly in long swipes of his hot tongue. Stiles looks down; Derek’s jeans are open and his other hand is wrapped tight around his own cock, stripping it quick, merciless. “Stop,” Stiles orders, surprising himself.

Derek stops everything, looks up, expectant. “I want to, let me,” He pulls Derek up by his hair, making him cry out in pleasure. Stiles grabs Derek’s wrists shoves him against the wall, feeling his growl where their chests are pressed together, and licks into Derek’s mouth with bruising force and desperate pressure. Stiles pushes Derek’s jeans and underwear down his thighs, and grips both of their dicks in one hand, stroking light and teasing, while the other holds Derek’s muscular arm over his head. Derek breaks the kiss and moans, offering his throat.

Stiles nearly comes on the spot, he knows the significance of this. “Oh fuck, Derek,” he whispers against his collarbone, trailing soft kisses up to his jaw. Derek sighs, trembles, rolls his hips, and the grip his free hand has on Stiles’s love handle tightens, bruising. 

“Stiles! Please.” Stiles tightens his grip on their cocks, speeds up, presses them into his soft belly, and Derek arches, graceful and strong, gasps loud, comes hot all over their bare stomachs.

“Oh my god, _Derek_ , oh my god,” Stiles mumbles into Derek’s the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and comes biting Derek’s throat, making Derek let out a pleased, sated groan.

As soon as Stiles steps back, Derek’s hands are on his sides, pushing him to sit on his bed. Derek kneels on the floor and licks cum off Stiles’s chubby belly, kneeding it in his hands, forcing little noises and huffs of air from Stiles’s lungs. He keeps going even once it’s clean, and Derek tongues inside his belly button, making Stiles’s dick twitch valiantly. Finally, Derek gets up and pushes Stiles back, climbing half on top of him, curling into his side, still caressing Stiles’s chubby belly.

“God, that was _hot_. Getting fat was the best decision I ever made.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “You know I liked you before, too, right?”

Stiles grins. “I didn’t, actually, but duly noted. Why haven’t we been doing this for years, again?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot,” Stiles grins, sinks into Derek’s soft touch. “Are you sure you have to go?”

Derek sighs and sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face, through his hot-as-hell, messy sex-hair. “Yeah, I do.”

“No, no, wait, forget I said anything, c’mon, lay back down and cuddle with me.”

“Stiles, I have work early, I have to get back,” he protests, but lets himself be pulled back down.

“So call out,” Stiles says, kissing Derek’s neck.

“Mmm. I’m not calling out of work for sex, Stiles.”

“Ugh, fine, you responsible little shit.” Stiles kisses him quickly, nudges him out of bed. “Go on.”

They get dressed in rumpled clothes, and Stiles walks Derek to his car, smile fixed to his face. “I miss you already, my little sugar muffin,” Stiles says, and Derek wrinkles his nose.

“Please don’t ever call me that again.”

“You know that you saying that just now essentially makes it a guarantee that I will now call you ‘my little sugar muffin’ and an assortment of other disgusting pet names of equal or greater value, as often as possible, don’t you?”

“Well if anyone’s a muffin it’s you, big guy,” Derek says, fondling Stiles’s muffin top.

Stiles grins, crazy and euphoric, wraps his arms around Derek and squeezes. “Don’t go.”

“I have to. You’ll be home in two weeks, Stiles, it’s not that long.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Think of just how many things I could do to you in two weeks,” Stiles says, low and hot in Derek’s ear, smirking at the shiver the words cause. “I’ll be thinking about it, _everything_ I want to do with you, whenever I’m alone. But don’t worry, I’ll makes sure to text or call to tell you all the things you could be doing to me if only you were here.” Derek is breathing heavily, grasping his plush waist tight in strong hands.

“Stiles, I really have to go, now,” He says, voice shaking.

“I know, honey bun,” Stiles says, and he kisses Derek soundly, tugging on his top lip before pulling away. “Have a good drive, Derek!” He pats the hood of the Camaro with a wink, and walks backwards towards his building, grinning hopelessly.

Suddenly Derek is back in his space, framing Stiles’s face in his hands, and licking into his mouth hungrily. It’s a kiss promising _sex_ , and it makes Stiles’s knees threaten to give way. Just as quickly, Derek pulls away, now matching Stiles’s previous grin. “Bye, Stiles,” He says, and gets into the car, pulls away.

Stiles is hard again. That motherfucker. He hobbles back to his room and jerks off. As revenge, he texts Derek about it.

Message To: Derek ‘Sourwolf’ Hale

_That kiss was so fucking hot, I walked all the way back to my room hard and aching for you. I could barely wait to unzip my jeans at first, but touching my dick just wasn’t enough, so I stripped out of all my clothes and opened myself up with two fingers. God, I wish they were yours. I bet you’d be good at that, Derek. Your hands are so thick and strong. I think about them like all the time… Or would you want me to do it to you? I could, you know. I’ve been told I have very talented fingers. Do you think about my hands, Derek? Could you cum just from me fingering you?_

**Derek:** _Seriously, Stiles, I’m trying to drive, don’t send me shit like that._

_How about later?_

**Derek:** _Fine._

**Derek:** _I can’t believe we’ve been in a relationship for less than a day, and you’re already sexting me._

_That reminds me._

_Fuck yeah, fb official with Derek Hale. My life is awesome._

After a moment of deliberation, Stiles sends a mass text.

Group Message To: Derek ‘Sourwolf’ Hale, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Jackson Whittemore

_DEREK AND I HAD SEX IT WAS AWESOME XOXO._

**Scott:** _way to go, bro!_

**Lydia:** Wow, it only took you three years to get your heads out of your asses. I had my money on at least five.

**Erica:** _Hot, can I watch next time?_

**Boyd:** _Finally._

**Jackson:** _I will hate you for all eternity for telling me this, Stilinski. But congrats, I guess, you two freaks deserve each other._

**Allison:** _I’m so happy for you both <3_

**Isaac:** _Dude i agree, that’s pretty hot_

**Derek:** _I regret this already._

_NO YOU DON’T, YOU LOVE ME, I HAVE PROOF. HEY GUYS, DEREK IS MY LITTLE POOKIE PIE NOW._

**Derek:** _Stop._

**Erica Reyes:** _HAHAHAHAHA this is so perfect_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading and commenting you're all lovely and wonderful! Chubby!Stiles lovers unite <3

**Author's Note:**

> You should come follow me on [tumblr](http://chubstilinski.tumblr.com) <3


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